


Something I Never Said

by A_Constant_Reminder



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-05 18:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11584170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Constant_Reminder/pseuds/A_Constant_Reminder
Summary: After Rory's death Amy just wants a normal life. Of course a normal life is never possible when you're friends with people like Sherlock Holmes. Though is it ever actually possible to be friends with Sherlock Holmes? During an investigation into some missing girls that Sherlock believes will help him unravel Moriarty's web after his faked death, the two find themselves on what they believe to be another planet. But things go sour when old faces start to reappear.





	1. A Goodbye and A Hello

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I'm going to make this note short. It'll probably be the only note on this. This fanfic is something left over from my fanfiction.net days that I've gone through and edited and finally written an ending to. I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think as Pondlock is something near and dear to my heart. Thanks!

"You will be okay Amelia." The Doctor said kissing Amy's forehead.

Amy smiled at him sadly. He still called her Amelia, even after all these years and all they've been through. She is and always will be Amelia Pond, like the name in a fairy tale, to him.

"I don't know how I could be." Amy said wiping the tears away from her face. "He's gone Doctor and I just…”

She let her sentence trail off. She didn't know how to live now, not without him. Every other time he had… _died._ He always came back. She still expected him to come around the corner and say hello in that goofy way that he did.

"I'm sorry Amelia, I really tried, I really did." He sighed and let go of her. "I didn't make it in time."

Amy looked up at the Doctor, her Raggedy Doctor, her best friend.

"I know." She whispered. "I know.”

At least that’s what she told him. A small part of her still blamed him for Rory’s death, all of them. It was his idea to bring Rory along in the first place anyway. If they had left him behind, safe, none of this would have happened.

The Doctor looked back at the TARDIS his face changing slightly. She stood on the corner of Amy's street, tall and blue, like always. He let go of a long breath, he always hated goodbyes. But at least this time he left she was alive.

"Time to go," he said sadly.

“Goodbye," Amy replied, somewhat coldly.

He looked at her for a second. ”I'll see you again.”

"No you won’t." Amy shook her head. “I’m sorry Doctor, but not anymore.”

"I'm sorry, Amelia. I really am.”

"I know." She smiled sadly. "Now go off and have your adventures with your blue box. And if you ever see that daughter of mine, tell her to visit her old mom sometime, okay?"

The Doctor's mouth thinned into a tight line, and Amy knew he was keeping something else from her. He had been for a while, since before Rory…

“Goodbye, Amelia Pond." The Doctor smiled his typical smile; the one that held so much underneath. So much that Amy would never know now.

He walked away, leaving Amy standing in front of her front door that Rory had painted TARDIS blue for her, alone in the chilly pre-winter night. She watched as the Doctor walked into the TARDIS’ doors, pausing for a second to wave back at her. A look crossed his face, one she couldn’t place. He went inside without another word. After a second the familiar sound of the TARDIS filled the quiet street. She watched as it disappeared without her in it.

The Doctor and his TARDIS, next stop: anywhere.

Not any more, not for Amy Pond.

Not for Rory either.

Amy let out another choked sob as she thought about her husband. His car parked in front of their house didn't help either. She just expected him to walk out of the front door with a goofy smile on his face. A goofy smile that she would never see again.

Amy walked into her empty house, confronted by the life she had left behind. Pictures of Rory and Amy were scattered around the house; some had the Doctor in them, some had River, their daughter, in them. But they all had memories, ones that Amy didn't want to see right now. One by one she walked around and placed the pictures face down. The ones on the walls were taken down.

She walked up to their… her bedroom in the dark. She flicked on the light and walked over to Rory's dresser. She pulled out one of his checked shirts and got undressed and then put it on, like she used to when he was…

She laid on the bed wrapped up in the blankets and his smell when she heard a noise downstairs. Instantly her heart leapt out of her chest.

_Rory_ , she thought. _He had made his way back for her._

Amy got up and slipped her feet into her slippers and pulled on her dressing gown. There was a loud groan from downstairs and Amy's face fell. That voice wasn't Rory’s. She froze for a second, taking in her options. Her phone was on the nightstand, the Doctor was always a phone call away. But she couldn’t keep on calling him every time that there was the slightest bit of trouble. Besides, for all she knew it could be a robber breaking into her house, or a squatter because she had been away for so long this time.

She flicked on her bedroom light and grabbed the closest thing in her reach, which just happened to be a bat. She couldn't remember who put the bat in the bedroom in the first place, but there had to be a good reason behind it, she was sure. Right now she was just thankful that it was there.

She reached the stairs and looked down.

"Who's there?" She called and then chastised herself. Of course a robber wasn't going to answer that question.

Amy walked down the stairs carefully, trying not to be caught by surprise by anything.

"I have a bat and I'm angry, extremely angry, so don't push me." She said in her thick Scottish accent.

She reached the light and turned it on and gasped.

"What the…" She said.

“Hello, Amelia, glad to see that you're back." Sherlock said getting up from the couch and walking towards her. "I have something to discuss with you.”


	2. Discussions

Sherlock watched Amelia as she pulled her dressing gown tighter around her. She must have been uncomfortable around him, which was odd, considering what happened.

Or maybe it is because of what happened.

He shook the thought out of his head. John had been helping him understand human behaviour, but he could never quite understand Amelia, the impossible woman, the woman who once had his heart, and probably still had it.

"What do you need?" Amelia said jumping straight into it. He smirked; she was still his Amelia, no matter what had happened between them.

"Just somewhere to stay and some help." He said standing right in front of her. She looked up to him slightly; her chin raised more in defiance than need to look up. She was still angry then, he deduced.

"And you're not at Baker Street because?" Her eyebrows rose. She already knew the answer though. Why was she asking him?

"I'm still supposed to be dead." He said, dusting some imaginary dirt off his suit.

She muttered something that sounded like: "why couldn't you stay that way?" Yes, she was definitely still mad with him.

She took a deep breath in. "Fine." She said reluctantly. "But I'm not helping Sherlock. I'm not getting involved in anything. I just want to have a normal life."

"No you don't." He argued. "You've never wanted a normal life in your whole life, Amelia."

"Things change, Sherlock." She snapped.

She was close to tears. He tried to think whether or not it was something he said. It could be the shock from not seeing him for so long after what had happened. If John were here he would know how to deal with this, how to best approach. Sherlock felt stiff as he watched the woman it had once loved stand in front of him, her fingers still tight around the bat’s handle. He wasn’t sure what to do, or what to say to her.

"People don’t."

He had held to that his whole life. People didn't change, they remained constant. His stubborn Amelia was proof of that. She had never changed, not one bit, since he first met her.

She rubbed her eyes and sighed. She seemed to be doing that a lot, he must be annoying her.

"You can stay in the guest room." She refused to look at him. "You can stay as long as you want, I don't care anymore."

Sherlock was about to say something, but held his tongue. She was going through a rough time, he needed to accommodate that. He needed to not make her life any harder than what he already did.

She turned away from him, he grabbed her wrist to stop her. 

"Amelia," he said softly as she turned back to look at him. "Thank you."

If she was surprised at hearing those words come out of his mouth, she hid it well.

"John must have been a good influence on you." She said as she slipped her wrist out of his grasp.

She turned and walked back up her stairs. Sherlock sighed. She seemed so different now, no she hadn't changed, but she seemed tense and uneasy around him. Could it have been the death of Rory? Could that still be affecting her. He tried to imagine how he would feel should Amelia ever die, but he couldn’t picture a world without her bright hair and fiery temper. Maybe it was still hard on her and he would have to accomodate for that.

It was at that same time that he saw John for the last time. The memory still burned bright in his mind; John's hand on Sherlock's gravestone, his muttered words about his 'dead' friend, and then after, as he was walking away, John bumped into Amelia and the Doctor, and that's when Sherlock knew what he had to do.

Sherlock walked upstairs, passing Amelia's room. He held his ear close to the pale cream door; soft sobbing came from inside. She was crying. He almost knocked on the door and walked in to comfort her, and then he remembered that it wasn't his job anymore. With his head hung, he walked across the hall to the guest bedroom. He walked in and closed the door softly behind him.

He took off his coat and scarf and draped them over the lounge chair that was sitting in the corner. He undid and slid off his shoes, and then his shirt and then his pants. Someone had laid out fresh pyjamas on the bed. He smiled, knowing that even if she didn't like him, she was still looking after him. He pulled them on, noting the distinct smell of clean laundry.

He stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Someone, probably Amelia had decorated the roof with glow-in-the-dark stars. This was probably River's room when she came to visit. Sherlock wondered if she and Rory ever considered having another kid; probably not. Amelia was never one for children in the first place. River was an exception.

Sherlock turned onto his side and stared out of the open window, contemplating the case he was trying to solve. He had never had this much trouble, but this one was different, which was why he needed Amelia's and the Doctor's help. If the Doctor was really an alien then he could prove very useful to Sherlock, he just needed to find him first and the best way to find the Doctor is through Amelia, everyone knew that. And Sherlock was going to use it to his advantage.

. . . . .

The first thing Amy noticed when she opened her eyes were the lights, too bright and hot, on her skin. She couldn't see past these lights. There were no shapes and no colours, just white. Her panicked mind wondered if she was back at Demon's Run, if Madame Kovarian had gotten her again. That was what Amy always thought when she saw the lights.

Rory ran into her field of vision.

"Amy," he smiled, holding her face in his hands. "We've found you. Doctor! She's over here!"

Amy couldn't register what was going on. There was something clouding her mind, but she knew, as soon as she saw Rory, her Rory, that she was safe. She pulled at the binds that were holding her.

"Rory, I can't get out." She mumbled.

Rory looked down and uselessly pulled at the straps. "Wait here." He ordered.

"Right, yeah, because I'm going to go to the moon while you're gone." She retorted in her thick Scottish accent.

Rory chuckled and kissed her softly and briefly, much too briefly. "I'll be right back." He smiled.

"You better."

She watched as Rory disappeared around a corner, she started counting in her head.

When a few minutes had passed, the Doctor's head appeared around the same corner Rory went.

"Amy! Good! You're alive!" He beamed walking towards her.

"Where's Rory?" She asked, trying to turn her head to look behind him to see if he was there.

"I don't know." The Doctor turned around and scratched his head. "He was right behind me."

"Well come on, get me out and we can go look for him." Amy pulled at the straps.

"Right, yes, geronimo!"

He smiled and pointed his sonic screwdriver at the straps. Once she was out, Amy rubbed at her wrists.

"'Let's go to an alien planet' he says. 'The skies are orange and the ground is bouncy' he says. 'Nothing can go wrong'." Amy muttered. "Come on Doctor, let's go find my husband." She walked towards the corner.

Walking around the corner, Amy froze.

_It couldn't be_ , she thought. But it was.

"Doctor?" She called, not taking her eyes off the thing in front of her. " _Doctor_!"

"What – oh." The Doctor said as he turned the corner. He looked up and stared at the angel in front of them. "Don't blink Amelia."

"I'm not blinking." She exhaled sharply. "Where's Rory?"

"I'm not sure." He muttered as he took a step towards the statue. He had a look in his eyes that Amy wasn’t sure she was quite comfortable with.

"Don't do that!" She hissed.

"Relax Amy, as long as you're looking at it, I'm fine." He turned and smiled at her.

He whipped out his sonic screwdriver and began buzzing it around the statue.

"Hmm," he muttered. "It hasn't gotten us yet, why hasn't it gotten us yet? The whole time we were in that room it could have gotten – oh aren't you beautiful!"

"Is now really the time?" Amy rolled her eyes internally.

"Now is definitely the time. Amy, look!" He spun around holding a control.

"Am I supposed to know what that is?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's a remote control!" He said excitedly.

"And…"

"It's not a real angel! It's a robot! Wow this is exciting! Who would want to create a robot replica of a Weeping Angel?" He chucked the remote away and continued waving his sonic screwdriver at the angel/robot.

"But Doctor didn't you say…" Amy started, taking her eyes off the robot/angel.

"That which holds the image of an angel becomes, itself, an angel." The Doctor said in a low voice, slowly looking up from his screwdriver. "Amy, where's Rory?"

"I don't know. That's what I've been asking you this whole time." She put her hands on her hips.

"Amy we have to get back to the TARDIS."

"What?"

"Now, Amy! Run!"

The Doctor pulled her hand and led her in the opposite way of the angel and towards the TARDIS.

"Doctor where's Rory?" She yelled at him as they ran.

He didn't answer; instead he pulled her resisting self into the TARDIS and locked the doors behind them.

"Doctor!" She shouted, banging on the doors. "Where is he? Where is Rory?"

He still didn't answer. He jumped up to the console and pulled some levers. He brought the screen around to face him, his face drained of colour. Amy ran up to see what was on the screen and immediately regretted it. Outside lay her husband's body, bloodied and broken. She ran back to the door and slammed on it, trying to get it to open.

"No!" She half screamed and sobbed, "No, Rory! Doctor please, Doctor we have to save him! Please Doctor!"

The Doctor said nothing and pulled more levers, pretty soon the sound of the TARDIS in flight filled Amy's ears. She ran up to the console and tried to push him away.

"No, Doctor, you can't leave him, you can't!" She cried trying to get him away from the controls.

The Doctor pulled her away from the console. His hands were firm on her shoulders. Her brain was working a million miles a minute. Angels didn’t kill like that. They didn’t hurt you. They just let you live your life. Why had this one hurt Rory? There had to be a way to get him back. He couldn’t be gone, not for good. Not again.

He just held onto her tightly. "Amy, I'm so sorry, there's nothing we can do."

Amy looked up at him. His face blurring from the tears in her eyes. Those words repeated over and over again in her head.

_Nothing we can do._

_Nothing we can do._

_Nothing we can do._

Each word stinging her over and over again. Each word shattering her heart into a hundred million pieces to never be put back together again.

. . . . .

She woke up in a tangle of sheets. Her hair plastered to her face. Her breathing ragged as sobs travelled their way through her chest. She remembered that she had a guest and she tried to stop crying. This dream had been happening every day since he died. Amy had woken up inside the TARDIS more than once to a very concerned Doctor watching her intently.

Amy turned onto her side and sniffled. These dreams were getting worse and worse. Every time she closed her eyes she was assaulted by those images. She was slowly getting less and less sleep. But the dreams didn't stop her body from feeling tired. They didn't stop her eyelids from falling shut. They didn't stop her from being pulled once again into a deep state of unconsciousness, where the dreams lurked in the shadows and waited to begin again.


	3. Discoveries

Living with Sherlock was turning out to be easier than Amy had expected. He was hardly there, and when he was, he locked himself up in his room and didn't talk. He hardly ever ate, so Amy didn't really have to cook for him, and at least he didn't annoyingly play the violin anymore. She actually found his violin playing soothing. He played it as she went to sleep every night. Part of her mind wondered if he was doing it on purpose. The other part, more reasonable part, told her that she was being silly, that the Sherlock she once knew, and cared for, was gone.

One day she knocked on Sherlock's door.

"Sherlock?" She called.

He wasn't here, she already knew that. But she couldn't help herself. Whatever this case was, it had him interested. And her being, well, her, she couldn’t help but have a look; even though she told him she wanted a normal life.

She pushed open the door and gasped. There were maps and pictures and bits of coloured string everywhere. She walked carefully over to the biggest map, which took up the whole back wall of the room. There were pictures of young women attached to it with tacks tied to red string. She stood back and looked at it. It seemed like the dots connected to create a bigger picture, she couldn't put her finger on it though.

"Like it?" A voice said behind her.

Amy jumped and spun around. "It's a mess." She complained while her heartbeat calmed down.

"It's organised."

"To whose standards?"

He looked at her and then behind her to the map.

"I can't figure it out.” He admitted in a small voice. “I've been looking at this map for days, connecting the dots, but I'm missing something. Whatever this is, Amelia, it's not human.”

“What makes you say that?” She asked.

“They’re disappearing too quickly. The witnesses at the scene, if there even are any.” He walked up to the wall and pointed at two of the girls. “These two disappeared in bed. No witnesses. Anyway, the witnesses said they heard a grinding noise and then saw a flash of light.”

"What do you want me to do about it?" She asked, turning to look at the map as well.

"The Doctor…” he started.

Amy shook her head, his true intentions being revealed. Of course he didn’t just come here because she is his friend. No, he came back because he needed something.

"I can't call him, Sherlock. He won't answer me.” She shrugged as she looked beyond him to the wall.

"He always answers you.” He looked confused.

"Not anymore.” She said sadly.

Those two words held so much pain. Her beloved Doctor. The man she had loved since she was seven years old. Dropping her home and ignoring her as if all they did was share a cab. It wasn't his fault. She had said that she didn't want anything else to do with him or that life. Not after everything that happened.

"Amelia," Sherlock started but one look at him told her that he didn’t know exactly what to say.

"Don't. I'm fine." She turned back to smile at him. “I don’t want your pity.”

She turned her focus back to the map. "You're missing a location.” She said as she walked up to it, gently brushing his hand out of the way.

"Everything's there." He defended, looking a little hurt. “All the girls that have gone missing.”

"No, Sherlock,” she shook her head, fully focused on the map. “There's a location missing, the lines are spelling something."

Amy went to get her sketchbook and came back. She sat on the floor and sketched out the lines onto the piece of paper. Sherlock walked over to her and looked over her shoulder, transfixed, as he usually is when it came to her. She drew and erased, changing the lines, revealing the extra location.

The lines appeared smoothly, he didn't know how he hadn't seen it before. It was all so obvious now.

Amy gasped. She hadn't wanted to see this word come out of the mess of lines. But she knew where the last location was. She grabbed a pin and tied a loose end of string onto it and placed it on the map.

"I figured it out." She whispered, her voice small.

They stared at the map. The pin she placed revealed the extra location. The location of the next missing person.

“Amelia, that’s…” He muttered softly, unconsciously stepping closer to her.

"I know."

They both stared at the map. The last pin placed directly on Amy's address. The lines on the map spelling out a very simple word that once meant everything to her.

_Gotcha_.


	4. Times Fly

Amy tried to avoid Sherlock as much as she could after their discovery. She only went out for groceries and essentials, but the whole time looking over her shoulder, making sure that she was fine, that she was safe. Sherlock would have scoffed at that word, 'safe', no one is ever safe, especially when they might have an alien hell-bent on destroying her friend, the Doctor, on their trail.

After that discovery, Sherlock had filled her in.

"There have been a number of cases around the UK, of girls going missing." He had said. "They've usually gone missing from populated areas like shops and parks and work. Witnesses have described it as ‘they were there one minute and then gone the next’." He read from the file in his hand.

"How many girls?" Amy asked.

"As many as you saw on the map, maybe more."

Amy felt sick. All these girls missing, gone god only knows where, and some of them might not have even been reported. Who would do something like that?

"Amelia, this is getting worse, if you were right about the… Location, then you're next, you need to be careful."

Amy looked up to his face. He looked concerned, but he couldn't, he was Sherlock, he didn't show emotions.

"I'll be fine." She said stubbornly.

Since then she had hardly talked to Sherlock, choosing, instead, to busy herself with mundane tasks that she knew Sherlock wouldn't like.

Of course, she knew in the back of her mind that it couldn't go on like this forever.

"Two weeks." Sherlock said as she walked into the door after getting some apples from the market.

"Two weeks?" She repeated, setting the bag down on the kitchen counter.

"We have been waiting for two weeks, but nothing has happened." She walked in after her and grabbed an apple. "Maybe you were wrong. The location pinpointed your house, but it isn't busy around here at all."

Amy felt her temperature start to rise. Of course it was her who had to be wrong, never him. There was a knock at the door, interrupting her short fit of anger. Amy went to go get it, Sherlock following close behind, but staying out of view. She opened the door to a man handing out flyers.

"Good evening, mam." He greeted. Amy heard Sherlock silently scoff from behind the door. She opened it further and hit him with it while smiling at the young man in front of her.

"I'm here to inform you about the festivities that are taking place this weekend." He handed her a flyer and Amy looked at it, her blood ran cold.

"They say it's going to be huge, heaps of people around, the whole thing." The man had a huge smile on his face and Amy tried hard to return that smile.

"Thank you." She muttered and closed the door.

Sherlock immediately grabbed the flyer out of her hands and looked at it. Amy could have sworn that he went pale for a second before he composed himself again.

"Sherlock," Amy said.

"Stay in the house, don't go out of the house." He ordered. "Don't let anyone in, anyone at all, even if you know them."

He grabbed his scarf and his coat.

“You can’t just order me around and then disappear.” She frowned. “Where are you going?”

"I still have some friends who know I'm not dead, you need to be protected." He started towards the back door.

Amy looked after him, wondering if she should follow.

“Sherlock…”

She could hear the fear in her voice. Sure her life had been in danger before, too many times to count. And after Demon’s Run she didn’t think anything like this would scare her again. But losing Rory, losing the Doctor. Amy was alone and vulnerable. She had lost the two most important people in her life within the span of a couple of days of each other.

She looked up at the tall man in front of her. His curly hair, his bright blue eyes which were filled with something that if she didn’t know better, she would have called it concern. Sherlock had her in his arms in two long steps. He smoothed her hair and she wrapped her arms around him, feeling safe straight away. She sighed, she had missed this more than she wanted to admit.

"I'll protect you, Amelia, no matter what, you will be safe.” He whispered against the top of her head.

Amy nodded and all too soon Sherlock had let go of her and gone out the backdoor into the dying sunlight.

. . . . .

When Amy slept that night, she didn't dream her normal dream. No, this time it was different. Instead of being tormented by her usual terrors, she found herself surrounded by sunlight and rolling hills filled with tall green grass. She didn't feel scared in this dream, instead she felt safe, like she had once felt with the Doctor, and Rory.

With Sherlock.

Awake Amy would never admit to having any sort of feelings towards Sherlock these days unless they were of annoyance or something along those lines. Asleep Amy was with Sherlock in a field, surrounded by butterflies and flowers. They were lying side by side on his coat. Their fingers intertwined as they said nothing, just lay there and stared at the sky and the clouds drifting lazily above them. Sherlock's thumb was making little circles on the back of her hand.

Amy had never felt more content in her whole life, more at peace, than when she was laying with Sherlock. They didn't even have to speak. She realised something deep within herself that she fought to suppress so many years ago. She realised that she didn't need anything else; she just needed this, Sherlock next to her, his breathing matching her own, their hands the only thing that was touching. She realised how much she had missed this feeling, how much she had missed Sherlock.

. . . . .

Amy woke up the next morning, more rested than she had been in months. But at the same time there was a distinct ache in her chest, like she was missing something. She didn't remember her dream from the night before, or her realisation inside the dream, all she knew was that she didn't have her normal nightmare.

Sherlock was still nowhere to be found the next day, Amy shrugged it off and went about cleaning the house, but she felt the lack of his presence more than ever. Nonetheless, as per his instructions, she didn't let anyone in her house. She didn't answer the door or the phone. She essentially became a ghost.

. . . . .

They were starting to set up for the fair. Sherlock watched from a distance, looking for anyone who seemed out of sorts. There was no one though, no one of interest anyway. He played with the notion of going back to Amelia, but he was waiting for something first, a sign to say all was okay.

The sign came at exactly 5:08pm, Sherlock nodded at the woman who gave it to him. Upon receiving the sign he went back to Amelia straight away. She was upstairs in the shower, he noted as he slipped in through the back door and up to his room. He listened to her soft singing, smiling to himself as he remembered the way she used to sing to him when she was younger, when she was just a weird girl who dreamt of impossible things. She still did.

Sherlock got changed into the clothes that she must have left for him on the bed. He heard the door to the bathroom open and he went out to announce his return to Amelia. As he ventured out into the hallway, the first thing he was greeted with was a very angry, and naked, Amelia. Sherlock straight away turned his back, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"I'm back." He said after he cleared his throat.

"Yes, I know.”

He knew she was angry with him but he could hear a smile in her voice.

"You're naked." He blushed harder.

"Excellent observation."

He heard her footsteps hesitate, almost as if she were going to come closer to him, but then they went back to her room. A tiny squeak as her door opened and then closed. Sherlock let go of the breath he had been holding, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the image of her, dripping wet, out of his mind. John had been wrong, everyone had been wrong. Sherlock wasn't a robot, incapable of feeling, he just hadn't met anyone who posed as much of a mystery as his impossible Amelia Pond. He went back into his room and played the violin, trying to get his mind off of the girl who had definitely grown up into a woman.


	5. Blind

Sherlock was 13 years old when he met Amelia Pond for the first time. She was 7 years old and everyone else called her weird. It was only natural that they, the two people in the whole town who were different, became friends. If 'friends' was the right word.

Amelia would constantly talk of her raggedy Doctor, the man she knew was coming for her, because he promised. Sherlock let her believe this. He watched her grow up believing in this man, this higher power. Sherlock knew that people made up all sorts of things to deal with incidents in their lives. The loss of Amelia's parents must have triggered the need to believe in a higher power.

Two days before Amelia's 19th birthday, they got into a fight.

"I know he's real!" Amelia shouted at him. "He exists, Sherlock, you can't deny that!"

"He does not exist, Amelia!" Sherlock rarely raised his voice, but there was something about Amelia that made him so quick-tempered.

"You've met him!" She persisted. Sherlock wished that she would shut up.

"I have not met him." He took a deep breath in. "You're making up stories and memories to accommodate the loss of your parents." He rationalised. "That is all Amelia. That is all it ever has been. There is no such thing as 'The Doctor'."

Amelia went silent and Sherlock saw, in her eyes, he saw the hurt and the betrayal. He was the only person who indulged her, apart from Rory, but only because the boy had a crush on her. Unrequited, of course, Sherlock knew of Amelia's feelings towards himself. But he watched as those feelings, which were once warm and loving, turned to cold and denying.

"Get out."

When Amelia got mad, really mad, truly mad, her voice lowered, nearing more of a whisper. Her eyes, which were normally an open and inviting shade of green, turned dark and determined. Sherlock knew that he had crossed a line, that there was no going back from this point.

But just because he knew, didn't mean he had to accept it.

"Amelia," he tried.

"No, Sherlock, I want you out, I want you gone, I don't want to see you anymore." She walked to the front door and opened it. "Get out."

Sherlock grabbed his coat and his scarf and put them on.

"Very well." He said walking past her.

He paused for a second in front of her before letting out a sigh and stepping into the cold winter air. The door closed roughly behind him, and Sherlock knew that it was over. That they were over.

The box with the ring in his coat pocket burned through, reminding him that alone is what he has, alone protects him. He walked towards the taxi waiting for him in the centre of the town. He never saw Amelia Pond again.

A week later Sherlock was in London "assisting" the police with an investigation, although he was doing most of the work. There were weird messages on the phones and the TVs and the music players, everywhere. People started to panic when something happened to the sun. Not Sherlock though. And when it was all fixed, Sherlock's fingers itched to dial Amelia's number into his phone followed by a quick apology text. He didn't though. The ring still sat in its red velvet box, in the top shelf of his bedside table.

They never spoke again.

2 years later, Rory and Amelia got married.

They invited Sherlock to the wedding.

He didn't go.


	6. City of Delusion

The shouts and the screams of the children outside echoed through the empty hallways of the house. The lights were turned off. A book lay open on the ground, the pages flicking lazily with the breeze from the open window. They had just disappeared, no traces left behind. They were just… gone.

Police cars quickly filled the street, bursting into the house. Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade walked into the house after the first responders had cleared it. He picked up the first picture on the hall table just inside the door. The picture was of a young group laughing. In the background an impossible sky of purple and blue with two suns shining brightly. Lestrade immediately recognised the brown floppy haired man as the Doctor. He had helped them a number of times. The red haired woman and the blonde haired man were his friends, Amelia Pond and Rory Williams. Lestrade knew that John was a friend of theirs.

He put the picture back down on the table as it was before.

“Make sure you dust for prints.” He called out to the forensic team.

A group of people had gathered just beyond the police line. They whispered to each other as people do. A news van pulled around the corner and Lestrade rolled his eyes.

He walked further into the house, checking out the rooms. He had met Amy and Rory once or twice, but he didn’t really know them. The house was clean.

“Detective?” A uni called from an upstairs room. “You might want to have a look at this.”

Lestrade took the stairs two at a time and rushed into the room the officer was in. He froze at the doorway however as he took in the sight of the giant map on the wall.

“What the…” His voice trailed off as his eyes followed the carefully placed notes and red yarn tacked to the wall.

“Was this girl involved?” The uni asked.

Lestrade shook his head. “No,” he smiled. “This wasn’t the girl. This was someone else.”

“Who?”

“Sherlock Holmes.” Lestrade shook his head again. It felt good to know that he hadn’t really died, but he wondered how he had gotten away with it.

Lestrade’s eyes caught something tacked onto the last pin. He walked towards it, pulling some gloves out of his coat pocket. As he pulled them on he noticed that the last pin was place directly on this address. The note tacked onto it had his name on it.

“Get me a bag.” He ordered the uni as he unpinned the note carefully.

He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the messy handwriting that had taken him years to be able to decipher in the first place.

_Lestrade,_ it read. _Amelia is the next one. If you’re reading this then it means I’ve been taken with her. I think this might be something more than human. Call in the Doctor, he can help. Tell him Amelia’s in trouble and he’ll come running. - Sherlock._

. . . . .

Amy's eyes blinked a couple of times in the darkness. She tried to think of what had just happened. One moment she was sitting in the lounge reading a book and listening to the sound of the fete outside. The next thing she knew, she was surrounded by darkness and in complete silence. The silence unnerved her, making her uncomfortable after the loud noise of a hundred people in the street outside her house.

She got up from the ground carefully and made her way to find a light switch. Amy felt around her as she moved, careful not to knock into anything or alert anyone to her presence. She felt familiar pieces of furniture around her. So she was still inside her house at least. She found her way to the wall and tried flicking the light on but it didn’t work. She wanted to groan, of course it didn’t work, why had she expected otherwise?

Amy heard a movement upstairs and all her defences went up. Her primal instinct to protect herself kicked in. It felt like all her senses were heightened just because she had lost her sight. Using her knowledge of her house, she made her way quietly to the stairs, where the intruder was coming down rather loudly, not bothering to hide the noise they were making.

Just as they reached the bottom, where Amy was hiding behind a wall, she reached out and elbowed the intruder in what she believed was their diaphragm, using the element of surprise to her advantage. She heard them tumble the last couple of steps and on to the ground where she immediately climbed on them and pinned them down.

“Who are you and what do you want?” She shouted.

“To… Breathe…” A choked voice came out from beneath her, but she immediately recognised it.

"Sherlock?" She said, obviously stunned. "I'm sorry, I thought…”

She sat up slightly, releasing the pressure on his chest. 

"I know exactly what you thought, Amelia." He replied rather brusquely. "The bruises I am sure to experience can attest to that."

"Sorry again, Mr Grumpy-pants." Amy said mock-seriously.

She didn't need to be able to see to know the look he was giving her.

"Are you going to let me go?" Sherlock asked.

Amy blushed in the darkness, thankful that he couldn't see her. She had forgotten for a moment that she was still sitting on top of him, his arms still pinned to the floor by her hands. To his credit he could have reversed the situation at any time, but he didn’t. She suddenly became very aware of his body under hers. She didn’t know, or understand, why it felt more… _there_ in the dark.

"Right, sorry."

Amy got off him quickly, trying to dispel the thoughts from her head and rose to her feet. She heard him standing up next to her and him dusting off his suit. He let out a small sigh; he was probably annoyed with her for some reason.

"So," Amy said, pursing her lips and drawing out the 'o'. "Have you any idea where we are?"

"We're inside your house still." He said.

“Wow, brilliant powers of deduction you’ve got there, Sherlock Holmes.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m so glad that I’m stuck here with you of all people.”

She could feel his eyes on her and Amy shrugged it off. She felt around for the hallway table she knew was somewhere around here. 

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked.

“What do you think?”

She shot him a look that she knew he wouldn’t be able to see. A small chuckle confirmed that he could definitely _feel_ it though.

She found the table and opened the drawer, pulling out the torch Rory had always kept there just in case. She flicked it on, aiming it at the wall opposite her. The light blinded her for a second and she groaned. 

When her eyes finally adjusted to the change of light, she looked around. Sure enough, they were standing inside her house. But the windows had been boarded up, from the inside, like they were keeping something out. Amy wondered what the hell was going on. She walked to the door but Sherlock stopped her from opening it.

"Something's wrong." He said, placing his hand over hers on the door handle.

Amy rolled her eyes. "Really?" She said sarcastically. “Because I hadn’t already figured that one out.”

He frowned at her and she arched her eyebrows at him. He sighed and she knew she had won.

"Fine, let me." Sherlock said, grabbing Amy by the waist and pulling her back.

Amy had no time to act annoyed. All she could think about was Sherlock's arm around her. The heat from his body was so close. She blushed and moved willingly, silently cursing at herself for being so weak at his touch.

Sherlock gave her a fleeting look. He saw her reaction, of course he did, how could anyone not? He didn't allow himself to hope though. Hope often led to disappointment. Alone is what he has. Alone protects him. Amelia Pond was not going to change that.

He twisted the door handle and took in a deep breath and opened the door.

. . . . .

Somewhere, far away, there was someone smiling, laughing, planning. He had them exactly where he wanted them.

“Are they in place?” A voice said behind him.

“Of course,” he smiled. “Everything is running perfectly. Like pieces on a game board.”

The person behind him sighed.

“You humans and your fascination with games. It’s so… Primitive.”

He frowned and looked at the woman. He hated that word when it was used to describe him. If anything he was well above those other things who inhabited his planet. 

“I think you’re forgetting that I’m not exactly _human_.” He pointed out.

“There’s enough of that in there that it has tainted you.” She smiled sharply. “Enough of it that you needed my help for this plan. Though what he has to do with it, I’m rather confused.”

“I have my reasons.” He muttered and stood up quickly.

He walked passed the woman, their shoulders just touching.

“If you ever use that word to describe me again,” he looked into her cold black eyes. “It’ll be your last.”


	7. We’ll Make it out Alright

There were three times that Sherlock Holmes had been left speechless. The first time was when he was five years old and his mother gifted him with his first microscope. The second time was the first time he solved a murder when he was eleven. The third time was when he saw Amelia Pond for the first time.

But looking outside at the scene before him counted as his fourth time. He didn’t know what to tell her, he didn’t even know what to think. The crowds that had been in the streets just a few minutes ago had vanished. The scene before him could only be described as post-apocalyptic, which was not a work that Sherlock used often.

The streets were bare, but not in ruin. There was rubbish everywhere and the houses were slightly decaying from lack of care. It was as if everyone had just packed up their bags and just left. The trees and bushes in the park in front of Amelia’s house were bare, and there was a chill in the air. But the air _felt_ wrong, for lack of a better description.

The street lamps were just beginning to flicker on as the sun was going down. But even the sunset looked wrong.

"Sherlock?" Amelia asked. “What’s going on?”

She walked around him to step outside before he could stop her. He then remembered that new scenes like this probably wouldn’t surprise her as much as they would him. She had been travelling to different planets and times after all. It wasn’t a shock to her like it was to him.

Amelia walked around for a bit, inspecting the plants and the houses. Picking things up here and there. Sherlock just watched in awe from the doorway, he wasn’t actually sure if he could move just yet. She came back to him and gently pushed him out of the doorway to close the door behind her.

“We probably shouldn’t be in the opening too long.” She said, her voice level, calm.

Sherlock just looked at her for a second before snapping out of it.

“What are you thinking?” He asked.

“We could have been transported. Maybe to another planet.” She shrugged. “Whatever it is, someone has taken their time to make it look and feel like Earth, but it’s not exactly right. There are subtle differences. The soil for instance.”

“The soil?” Sherlock was now intrigued. This new side of Amelia was one that he was not acquainted with. One that he was eager to get to know.

“The plants don’t grow the same, so it’s definitely not Earth soil.” She smiled up at him. “Come on, there’s candles in the kitchen and maybe we’ll get lucky and there will be some food.”

He couldn’t help but return her smile. Her hope was infectious, anyone would do anything to see her smile. Sherlock was not immune to that. But underneath he could see something more. Something aching to come out. She was excited for the adventure, yes, that was obvious. But she was also, maybe, _scared._ He wondered, not for the first time, exactly how Rory had died, whether it was natural or not. But the look in her eyes told him that it was anything but.

. . . . .

"What do we do?" Amelia asked.

Her long fingers clasped a mug tightly as if it were the only thing keeping her anchored to the world. Her confidence was shaking a little bit, he could see that.

“What would the Doctor do?” Sherlock asked from across the couch.

He knew that those were the words that she wanted to hear. All those years playing make believe. All those times that Sherlock was stuck on a problem. Only for Amelia to come up to him and say ‘what would the Doctor do’? The question used to infuriate him, of course. The Doctor was make believe then, something that Amelia had made up to cope with the loss of her parents. But he didn’t ever show that to her, instead sometimes he indulged her. He had to admit, sometimes thinking about a problem in a different way, from a different point of view, did often solve it.

Amelia looked at him, smiling for a second at the warm memory. But then a cloud passed over her eyes again and she looked back down at her mug of tea.

“I don’t know.” Amelia admitted quietly. “I thought I knew him, Sherlock, but I don’t. Not really.”

He thought for a second. Unsure of how to proceed with this conversation. He could comfort her, tell her that she was the only person who knew the Doctor best. But he knew that was a lie, she knew it too for that matter. Amelia did not want to be comforted. No, she wanted the truth he was sure of it.

“Then what would Amelia Pond do?” He asked with the same conviction as before. “You’re the one who figured out what was coming next. What would be our next step from here, Amelia Pond?”

She brightened up again which made him happy. He had long ago settled for just knowing that she was happy even if he wasn’t the one who caused it. But now that it was as a result of something that he had done he became addicted to the warmth that it brought him.

“The other girls.” She said, putting her mug down on the table. “They had to have been taken here too, right? I mean if it is an alien, it would make sense to bring everyone into the one place.”

“But what do they want with them?” Sherlock questioned, more to himself than anything else.

“I’m not sure.” Amelia shrugged. “But we can start by looking for them at least.”

“When they arrived they would have arrived at the same places they were lost.” Sherlock agreed.

Amelia nodded, the two were on the same page. He had missed this more than anything else. John was good, sometimes he didn’t get things as quick as Amelia, but still he did miss his friend. But Amelia… She was everything. She saw things in ways that Sherlock would never think of. She gave him a point of view, forcing him to see things her way.

. . . . .

Once the sun came up they were off. Sherlock had memorised the addresses of course, he couldn’t rely on anything else at that moment. There could be the possibility that phones, even if they were operational, were tapped.

None of the locations were close to Amelia’s house, and of course there was not a car to be seen.

“Hey look,” Amelia said point to some bike lying on their side in front of a run down apartment building.

Sherlock hesitated for a moment and grabbed her arm.

“Wait,” he whispered.

She nodded, her body unconsciously moved towards him. At least that’s what he thought. He didn’t want to think about whether or not it was done on purpose.

He picked up a stone near their feet and threw it at the bikes. Nothing happened. They made some noises and the stone rolled away.

“I’m going to assume that they’re not booby trapped then.” Amelia laughed.

“That would be a fair assumption.” He agreed giving her a smile.

They walked up to the bikes and untangled them.

“Oh, well, lucky there are no coppers around.” Amelia chuckled.

Sherlock paused for a second, frowning, trying to work out why that would be fun. Amelia must have seen him trying to process her joke because she explained.

“No helmets, Sherlock.” She smiled. “We won’t get booked for not wearing helmets.”

He tilted his head to the side slight but otherwise smiled. She would think of that.

. . . . .

They arrived at the house. Amy carefully unmounted her bike and leant it against the fence.

“Is this the first place?” She asked, though she knew it was a dumb question.

Compared to the houses around it, this house almost looked brand new. Someone had taken time to create a replica of this house. It looked well cared for. Amy turned to the garden first. She plucked a leaf off of a dried bush and watched as it disintegrated in her hand. What was this place? Who was going through the trouble of recreating London? And what for?

She needed these questions answered. Amy knew that the moment they were answered they would be able to go home. But something in the pit of her stomach told her that it wasn’t going to be easy. They didn’t have a sonic screwdriver, or the Doctor’s years of experience. But between the two of them she hoped they had enough.

Amy walked carefully into the house, Sherlock following her lead. She could feel him close behind her, his presence a constant reassurance that at least she wasn’t alone in this. Are didn’t know what she would do had she had to do this alone. Sherlock, though sometimes he was terrible in the past, had been doing a good job at knowing what to say and when. And he was right. It was no longer a case of ‘what would the Doctor do’ but now it was ‘what would Amy Pond do’ that was the real question. And even though it terrified her, it also thrilled her.

The Doctor had never let her take charge in anything. Rory had always let her do whatever she wanted. Sherlock had been the only person to ever challenge her, make her think. And she was glad that it was him she was stuck with. Her earlier reservations about it faded away. Nothing would go wrong, she would be safe. Sherlock would keep her safe.

That thought warmed her as they explored the house room by room. They had brought some extra torches just in case they found someone, though Amy didn’t hold out much hope.

They stopped when they got to the main bedroom.

“Someone has definitely been here.” He nodded. “They girl went missing in her bedroom. The bedroom is tossed, not in a way of someone messy, but it looks like they were searching for something.”

Amy nodded.

“The pictures are all torn up and smashed.” She pointed out as she stepped into the room.

Amy picked up the closest picture to her and studied it. Someone had smashed the glass on the picture of the missing girl. Any photo that had her in it, her face was distorted either by smashed glass or burn marks, or someone simply ripped a hole into it.

“Whoever it was really had it out for this girl.” She thought aloud.

“She didn’t have any enemies, none this well connected anyway.” Sherlock said as he carefully picked through the room. “But her room back on Earth definitely did not look like this.”

“So maybe this was her?” She suggested. “If it was like what happened with us, she would have been transported here first. And the care of replicating the house…”

Their eyes met across the room as her voice trailed off. The question of _why_ floated unspoken between them. 

What the hell was going on?


	8. A feeling forgotten

The other locations where the girls were taken from their homes were the same. With the ones who weren’t, however, it was slightly different. But when Amy and Sherlock went around to their houses it followed the exact same pattern. Someone had carefully created and looked after the replicas of the houses or apartments. And then inside it was trashed, all the photos with the girls in them were disfigured in some way or another.

By the time they got back to Amy’s house the sun was starting to set and the sky was changing from a burnt orange to a bright turquoise. Amy threw her bike down in the front yard. Everything that they were finding didn’t answer any of her questions. If anything it left her with more than before.

Sherlock had been quiet the whole time. Amy knew he was also trying to piece together a chain of events, something, anything, to explain what was happening here. But there was something that they were both missing. Some vital piece of the puzzle that was hanging in front of their faces, nagging at them until they would stumble upon it.

“Amy,” Sherlock said as they walked up to her front door.

She turned around, she couldn’t remember the last time he had used her nickname; or if he had ever used it.

“Sherlock?” She responded.

He looked up at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. There was a hunger in his eyes that she had never seen before.

“Sherlock?” She said, this time a little sterner. “Are you okay?”

“Never better.”

But his voice had changed. His face started contorting. His eyes turned black, first at the irises and then it slowly spread to the rest of his eyes.

“Amy Pond,” he hissed. “Little Amelia Pond. Like a fairytale. How long do you think you’ll wait in the tower this time before he rescues you?”

“What are you talking about?” She backed up against the door, trying to get the handle but it had disappeared. “I’m not in a tower.”

The thing grinned. “That’s what you want to believe.”

It stepped closer to her. The rest of the world fell away as its face leaned in and its nose nuzzled her neck.

“Please don’t,” she pleaded. “Please leave me alone. I just want to be left alone. I don’t want any of this anymore.”

The thing took a deep breath in. “No can do, darling.” It grinned. “You still smell like him. So sweet… So sweet… Even now your heartbeat quickens, you long for the adventure. You long for the excitement. No, you do not want to be left alone.”

It laughed as its hand brushed a lock of hair away from her face.

“So pretty,” it crooned. “Not long now.”

. . . . .

Amy jolted upright in her bed. She felt sticky from sweat. Her sheets had been pushed down to her feet at some point during the night, she wasn’t sure if it was her doing. She could still feel that thing’s hand on her. Still see its eyes watching her hungrily.

“Sherlock?” She called, she needed to know he was okay.

She stood up and walked over to her door, opening it just in time to see Sherlock about to knock. Amy sighed with relief. His eyes were just his normal electric blue, looking at her quizzically. She wrapped her arms around his waist. For a second he stiffened before allowing himself to settle his arms around her. She felt the rise and fall of his chest as he took a deep breath in. Heard his heart beat steadily against his ribs, counting them to calm herself.

“Was it the same one?” He asked in a soft voice.

“No,” she muttered against his shirt. “No. This one was different.”

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to be lost in his arms for a moment. It had been so long since someone held her like this. So long since _Sherlock_ held her like this. She had forgotten how nice it was to be in his arms, how safe she felt.

Amy pulled away slightly to look at him.

“Sleep with me,” she asked.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate, Amelia.” He blushed, obviously misunderstanding her meaning.

Amy stifled a laugh and shook her head. “I meant just lay with me, in my bed. I just need you here right now.”

Sherlock nodded stiffly. Amy let go of him and walked over to her bed. She sat down and patted the side next to her as an invitation to Sherlock. He stood in the doorway for a second, carefully regarding her. Amy looked at his eyes. She had seen that look before when they were young. He was unsure of what to do. The only difference between now and then was that when they were younger Sherlock wasn’t as guarded as he was now.

“It’s okay,” she reassured him.

She watched as he closed the door behind him and walked carefully to the bed. Watching her with each step in case she gave the slightest indication that this wasn’t okay. 

Amy grew tired of waiting and pulled him onto the bed. She snuggled into his chest in a way that felt so familiar to them both. They relaxed into each other, Amy’s arm went around his waist while his arm curled around her shoulders.

Sherlock rested his cheek on the top of her head, enjoying the way the soft hairs gently caressed him. She felt so natural in his arms. She had always felt natural in his arms. His mind flashed back to the day they first kissed.

. . . . .

“Oh my god, how can you be so stupid?” She shouted at him. “God, Sherlock, you’re supposed to be so smart and yet _this_ is a surprise to you?”

“I don’t think surprise adequately covers it.”

He knew, in the back of his mind. He had to have known. Amelia wasn’t ever subtle with her feelings. She felt things fully or not at all. And it scared him, this beautiful girl, this mystery, it scared him that he was feeling the same things for her. 

“Amelia, you’re 17, you don’t…” He started.

Before he could continue with it, she grabbed him and pressed her lips to his rather urgently. Sherlock froze for a second before reflex took over. The days he had spent trying not to dream of this moment. It wasn’t good use of his brain, daydreaming over situations that would never happen. And yet here he was, kissing the fiery girl with the red hair and the mysterious Doctor. 

Sherlock wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer against him. His skin exploded with her touch. His lips felt like they could burst into flames at any second. If this was what kissing Amelia Pond was like then he never wanted to stop.

“Don’t finish that sentence.” She said when she pulled away. Her green eyes meeting his. “I know what I want, Sherlock. I’ve known it for a while, and so have you.”

He nodded, bewitched by her eyes. By the feeling of her slender body against his. He reached up and cupped her face, brushing his thumb over her lips.

“You were always quicker to the draw when it came to feelings, Amelia.” He smiled.

She returned his smile, her green eyes lighting up in a way that he would give everything to see for the rest of his life.

. . . . .

“What are you thinking about?” Amelia asked him, her hand absently moving on his chest.

“The past.” He confessed. “It’s inconsequential.”

“No it’s not.” Amy tilted her head to look up at him. “Your heart rate has increased.”

He looked into her green eyes. They looked the same as they did when they were younger and yet, different at the same time. She had aged, yes that was true, so had he. But her eyes… She had seen things that he couldn’t have imagined. His mystery girl grew into a woman with new mysteries waiting for him to crack them.

If she’d let him.

She waited for the rest to come but there was a noise at the front door.

"Hide." Sherlock ordered, jumping to his feet.

Amelia shot him a look, but otherwise did what he said and hid in the closet. It was almost like they were young again, and her and Sherlock were playing a game of hide-n-seek. He always knew where to find her though. Once he explained the process to her and she just shrugged her attention going elsewhere.

Sherlock walked carefully to the bedroom door. Someone was trudging up the stairs, not making an effort to be quiet. Whoever it was, they wanted their presence to be known. He swung the bedroom door open and came face to face with none other than Rory Williams.

"What?" He said, his grip loosening.

"Sherlock?" He frowned. “Why are you here? In my bedroom as well.” He looked Sherlock up and down. “And in your pyjamas?”

"Rory?" Amelia opened the closet doors and stared at her husband. "Oh my god.”

She gasped, her hand covering her mouth. This was impossible. After what Amelia had said, Sherlock was sure that Rory could not have possibly survived. But then again, when it came to dealing with the Doctor Sherlock was beginning to learn that anything seems to be possible. Including his former flame’s husband coming back at the worst time possible.

"Amy?" Rory said looking between the two.

He took a step towards Amy, who'd flinched back from Rory.

"No, no, no." She said shaking her head. "It's impossible."

She looked at Sherlock to explain what was happening. He gave her a barely observable shrug, he was still trying to wrap his head around it himself. What did Rory have to do with all of this? Who brought them here? Rory looked in between the two and took a step back.

"Amy, are you two…?" He asked, pointing between them.

"No." She said quickly, Sherlock frowned. "We're not."

“Oh." He nodded slowly. “Right.”

"Yeah."

Rory and Amelia looked at each other for a long time. He could see her brain processing the information laid before her. He could almost hear her repeating her favourite phrase to herself.

_Once have eliminated all the possibilities, whatever remains, however impossible, must be the truth._

She was always his favourite impossibility.

Sherlock looked in between them, jealousy rising up in his stomach. He had no right to be jealous, Amelia wasn't even his anymore, she was married to this boy. But he saw the way they used to looked at each other, Amelia had used to look at him like that. But right now, pure disbelief and distrust were written all over her face. And you didn't have to be the world's only consulting detective to see that.

"Amelia," Sherlock said. "Maybe you should sit down."

She nodded and did as he said, the whole group moving to the living room. Sherlock and Amelia sat on the couch, which left Rory to sit on one of the armchairs. He didn't look none too pleased about this fact which brought a small smile to Sherlock's face. Petty, sure, but he couldn’t help himself. He could feel Amelia gripping his coat, as if his being there was the only thing she knew was real.

"How did you get here?" Sherlock asked, uninterested in anything Rory had to say, he was an idiot anyway.

"Same way as you, I suppose, only I died." Rory shrugged.

Amelia's sharp intake of breath was audible, her fingers held on tighter to Sherlock's coat. Rory looked at Amelia.

"Look, Amy, I understand why you and the Doctor didn't come back. I wouldn't have either." Rory said. "So, it's fine. I died, again, and I came back to life, again."

Sherlock turned to look at Amelia, to see how she was dealing with it. He watched as on emotion replaced another in her eyes. Distrust, disbelief, hope. The hope hurt him the most. Because even though sometimes she didn’t act like it, Sherlock knew that she loved Rory. He had heard the cries in those early nights. He heard the screams.

She ran into Rory's arms and they hugged. Sherlock watched with mild contempt. He was just about to look away when Rory smirked slyly at him. And Sherlock knew, at that moment, that this person was not who he said he was.

There was something more going on here and he would find out what it was.


	9. Wild heart

Amelia Pond wore a gold "A" on a chain around her neck. She liked apples and puppies. Her favourite colour was blue and when she grew up she wanted to help people. Sherlock knew all this. He knew this like the back of his hand. Yet every time he saw her it was like she was hiding a new surprise for him to crack.

When Amelia Pond was 13 years old, she had her heart broken for the first time. She ran over to Sherlock's house and sat on his bed crying as Sherlock awkwardly patted her shoulder and tried to comfort her. The truth was, though, that he knew this was coming. Teenage relations rarely lasted, he knew that.

At 19 years old, Sherlock was already well on his way to becoming the cold, clinical person that everyone would know. But every time he was around Amelia, something in him changed. He became soft. There was something in her murky green eyes that brightened whenever she figured something out. There was something about the way she chastised him when he did something she didn't like, or the way that she was always so blunt with everyone, not just him.

At 19 years old, Sherlock Holmes fell in love and he didn't realise it.

Mycroft was the first person who told Sherlock the truth.

"Love, Sherlock," he said whilst he flicked the remains of a cigarette away, "is a chemical defect found on the losing side."

Sherlock looked at his older brother, really looked at him. His hairline was thinning and he was beginning to become larger around the middle. He didn’t know what it was like, what she was like. And he probably would never know. Sherlock pitied him.

"If it's where she is then I want to be there." Sherlock told him in an even voice.

Mycroft turned his head slightly and took in his younger brother.

"Very well." He replied.

He walked away from Sherlock, chucking his cigarette on the ground and putting his umbrella up.

At 23 years old, Sherlock Holmes realised just how dangerous love could be.

Sherlock Holmes went away to university when he was 18. The only reason he ever came back to Leadworth could be summed into two words. Amelia Pond. She slowly began to mean everything to him. He couldn't stop thinking about her. Sherlock passed this off as the fact that she was a mystery that he couldn't solve. His body was just transport, that was all. He wasn't like all of the other guys. He didn’t need those things.

Just transport.

Just Amelia.

Just experiments.

He told himself a lot of 'just's at that age. And never really stopped.


	10. Theories

There were three important moments in Amelia Pond's life: when she met the Doctor, when she met Sherlock Holmes and when she married Rory Williams. These are here happiest moments. Never mind that soon after she met the Doctor, he left her almost straight away. Or when she met Sherlock Holmes, he seemed adamant to prove that her Raggedy Doctor wasn't real. Or that Rory Williams keeps on dying and leaving her, unintentionally.

When Amy was growing up, and going to all those psychologists, everyone came to the same conclusion: Amy made up the Raggedy Doctor to deal with her abandonment issues. Because there could never be a 900+ year old alien who saved the world and sometimes took companions along with him. That just wasn't possible.

So Amy did what everyone told her to do: she grew up. She stopped arguing with people who said the Doctor wasn't real. She hid inside herself and let everyone believe she was happy. A long time ago, while she was travelling with the Doctor, she realised that there were only two times in her whole life that she was ever truly happy. When she was with her Raggedy Doctor and when she was with Sherlock.

But she was happy now. She had to be.

She lay in her bed, not able to sleep. Next to her Rory snored softly. Earlier that night they had celebrated his return as they normally did when this happened. She couldn't get into it though, so she pretended, doing all the things she normally did. Her mind was elsewhere though. And by elsewhere, she meant down the stairs and to the left, sitting on a couch and thinking, exactly where she left him when she and Rory went upstairs.

Amy got up and pulled some clothes on and then a dressing gown over that. She walked downstairs and paused in the doorway. She looked at Sherlock, taking in his dark, messy curls, his long hands resting underneath his head, his chest rising and falling regularly, calmly. She loved seeing him like this, relaxed, at peace. There was something beautiful about him as he slept.

She was about to walk back to her room and she heard Sherlock's deep, sleepy voice.

"Amelia?" He said. She heard the squeak of the couch as he sat up. She turned around and watched him wipe the sleep from his eyes. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long." Amy shrugged and then walked into the room and sat on the couch next to him. "What's wrong, Sherlock? And don't tell me that you're fine. I've never seen you be so mean to Rory ever."

Sherlock sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I don't think he is who he says he is, Amelia."

"What do you mean? He's my husband." She was a little insulted. If that was true, if Rory wasn't who he said he is, then Amy would know, she would feel something.

"I think you're too close to see it." Sherlock said turning to face Amy. "As soon as you said hello you were in the bedroom without questioning it. Amelia, I heard your screams every night, your cries for him, you want him back, badly, but what if someone's using that against you?"

Amy shook her head. "What if it were me, Sherlock? What if I came back to you from the dead? Would you say the same?"

Sherlock's eyes tightened. Yes she knew. She knew that he still felt something towards her. No one can ever stop caring for their first love.

"I don't…" He started.

"No, Sherlock, you can't say that." Amy demanded. "You wouldn't want me to stay dead if there was a way I could come back. You would do everything in your power to save me." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "I would do it for you, Sherlock."

Amy looked down at her hands. Finally succumbing to her feelings, even if it was only for a little while.

Sherlock gently touched her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. This wasn't like him, at all. Amy looked up. Her wide green eyes met Sherlock's steady blue ones. No they couldn't. Sherlock leaned in slightly, keeping his eyes on Amy. Amy knew that he was waiting on cues from her. Amy leaned in the rest of the way and pressed her lips gently to his. Her hand moved from her lap and into his hair, twisting his dark curls around her fingers. Sherlock's hand moved to her neck, tilting her head slightly.

Amy shot away from him. She couldn't do it. There was something there, something she hadn't felt with Rory, her _husband_ , before. Something that had always been there and she couldn’t be reminded of it.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry." She said, holding her hands to her mouth, her lips still tingling from his kiss.

"I know." Sherlock said as steady and even as ever.

Amy frowned. Hadn't he felt it? Why wasn't he as breathless as she was? She took a shaky breath in and calmed herself down.

"We can't…"

"I know." Sherlock looked at Amelia, and she saw the emotions he was hiding in his eyes before he quickly composed himself. "Amelia, you need to think about this."

"About what?" She asked confused.

"Rory isn't Rory."

Amy got mad this time. Was that the only reason he kissed her? So that she be malleable enough to agree with him?

"Yes he is. You're wrong.” She argued.

She shot off the couch and went back upstairs. She was acting like a five year old, but she didn't care. This was Rory they were talking about. Sherlock had no right to kiss her at all. A little voice in Amy's head reminded her that she kissed him, Amy ignored the voice.

She got undressed again and hopped back into her bed. She woke Rory up urgently by kissing him. He instantly realised what she wanted and he reacted. This was real, Rory was real. She was really feeling his smooth skin under her fingertips. She was really feeling his soft lips kissing down her throat, his long fingers trailing down her stomach. This was real. She was feeling it. Rory was real. She knew it.


	11. Blackout

Amy slowly opened her eyes. There was a bright, white light shining down on her and she blinked against it, trying to lift her hand to block it out. She found that she couldn't because they were pinned to her side.

She slowly became aware of her other surroundings. She was on, what felt like, a long metal table. Her arms and legs were held down. And she couldn't move her head at all. Somewhere in the room Clair de Lune played on a continuous loop.

A shadow past over Amy and she strained her eyes to make out what it was. A figure appeared over her, blocking the harsh brightness from the fluorescent light. She couldn't make out any details on the figure. Amy's heart sped up.

"Amelia Pond." A voice, which she had come to fear, said almost tauntingly. "I can see what they all see in you dear."

A hand reached out and stroked the side of her face. It was a careful, loving caress, one meant to soothe, relax. One that Sherlock had given to her the night that they…

"It's a shame that something so beautiful has to end."

The hand disappeared, along with the figure. She felt the platform she was laying on lifting up so that she was upright. She could see details in the room and the figure stepped into the pool of light that surrounded her.

"You're supposed to be dead." Amy accused, trying to put on a brave face even when she felt her body run as cold as ice.

"It's all a magic trick my dear." He chuckled. "But daddy's had enough now. He wants revenge."

"Are you going to kill me?" Amy asked, almost resigned to her new fate.

"Maybe. I haven't decided yet." He smiled sinisterly. "However, I think we should wait until they're all here, don't you?"

"Who?"

"Oh Amelia." He laughed, running another finger down her cheek, moving a lock of hair out of her eyes. "You'll see."

> _. . . Earlier . . . _

Everything was dark. Amy couldn't see. She couldn't hear anything. She couldn't taste anything. All of her senses weren't working. It made her uncomfortable. She tried to shift her position but she couldn't move. Her heart started racing, her palms getting sweaty. What was going on?

Somewhere, she heard a laugh, but it didn't sound human, or at least, not what she had come to associate with anything human.

"Little Amelia Pond." A child's voice said. "The girl who waited all night in her garden for her magical Doctor to save her."

"No." Amy said, shaking her head. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears, trying to block the voice out.

"The girl who waited so long to dance across the stars." It continued.

"No. Please stop."

"The girl who watched her husband die and die again." Why wouldn't it listen to her? "Amelia Jessica Pond, the girl who has to die."

Amy woke with a start. A sob caught in her chest. She turned her head and looked at Rory, who was still sound asleep. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her head on them.

"Amelia?" She heard Sherlock's soft voice through the closed door.

Amy got up and pulled her dressing gown on. She walked over to the door and opened it; Sherlock took a step back and studied her carefully. She stepped out of her room and closed the door softly behind her.

"We need to get home." She said softly.

She knew Sherlock already knew this. She also knew that they couldn't. Whatever brought them here, whatever was messing with her dreams, it wouldn't let them leave without her dying. She knew this now. And she knew that Sherlock knew it too.

"I know."

Amy stepped towards Sherlock and wrapped her arms around waist. All of their previous quarrels forgotten.

"Sherlock, I'm scared." She said quietly. She felt like she was nine years old again and Sherlock had found her waiting outside for the Doctor on a freezing winter's night.

"I know." He said simply, his arms around her tightening.

Amy heard the door behind her opening and she jumped away from Sherlock in a heartbeat.

"Amy, what are you doing?" She heard Rory's sleepy voice say behind her.

Amy's back stiffened. She had been taking comfort with a man who was not her husband.

"Nothing," she lied.

There was a few seconds of awkwardness between them as Rory saw through her lie.

"Are you coming back to bed?" He asked.

Amy looked at Sherlock, their eyes met. She had her answer on the tip of her tongue.

"No," Amy said softly, still keeping her eyes on Sherlock.

The door slammed shut behind her; the force of it creating a breeze and ruffling up her hair.

"Amelia," Sherlock said quietly.

"It's fine." She lied.

Sherlock nodded once and stepped aside. "I'm not sleeping." He said, gesturing her into his room.

"Do you ever?" Amy said rhetorically.

Which was apparently lost on Sherlock as he answered; "sometimes."

Amy stepped into his room and looked around uncertainly. She walked over to his bed where the covers were thrown back in a hurry.

"I'm sorry that I woke you." Amy said softly, sitting on the bed and staring out the window at the burnt orange night. "I didn't mean to."

"It's okay."

A small voice in her head reminded her that Rory had been sleeping next to her and not even he woke up. Not until she and Sherlock were hugging. Something was off, Sherlock was right. She wouldn’t ever admit that aloud but it was true. Something was wrong with Rory. He wasn’t himself. Maybe because he kept on dying it was slowly changing his personality. But he seemed to have an extra sense whenever Amy and Sherlock were close.

Sherlock came and sat next to her. She felt the bed dip slightly as he sat down. He intertwined his fingers through hers and Amy breathed out softly.

“The girls are dead.” She said slowly, more of a statement than a question.

“Yes, I think so.” Sherlock nodded.

“We were too late to save them.” Again a statement.

Amy wasn’t used to being too late to save someone. Her and the Doctor always came just in time. But all these girls, they were gone. It was now murder which had always been more of Sherlock’s department anyway.

Amy turned her head slowly to look at him. Sherlock turned his head to look at her. They both knew that they weren't going to make it back to Earth, but neither of them wanted to say it. Amy looked back out of the window as the sun slowly began to rise. She rested her head on Sherlock’s shoulder. She listened to his heart beating steadily in time with hers. Her eyes slowly began to droop.

Sherlock felt Amelia's grip on his hand loosen. He turned his head to look at her and smiled softly when he saw her asleep. He gently eased her head onto a pillow and lifted her legs onto the bed, then covered her in a blanket. He leaned over her and kissed her forehead the headed out of the room.

Rory was waiting in the hallway. For Sherlock, obviously.

"She's asleep." Sherlock said fixing his sleeve.

"I know."

Sherlock nodded. He knew Rory would be listening. He brushed past Rory and headed down the stairs.

"She's not yours, you know." He called after him. "She never will be. She'll belong to him for as long as she's alive and you know it."

Sherlock didn't need him to be given a name; he knew who it was already. He ignored Rory's comment and headed outside. The front door closing softly behind him.


	12. Pure hearts stumble

Sherlock Holmes walked around the deserted streets surrounding Amelia's home. Rory's words bouncing around in his head like hornets. He hated metaphors and similes, usually, but that one fit. There was a low layer of fog covering the ground, making the early morning orange sky seem even more sinister.

The kiss with Amelia had made Sherlock more… aware of certain aspect of his body. But at the time he considered it to be just an experiment. One that he would like to do again, if he had the chance.

He heard footsteps running up to him. Sherlock whipped around and pinned the other person to a fence. He came face to face with Amelia and his eyes couldn't help but dart to her lips, which parted as she tried to regain her breath. It was almost like she knew.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock snapped, but he still didn't let go of her. "I could've hurt you, Amelia."

Amelia pursed her lips and looked at him. "I'm not that breakable." She said in her thick Scottish accent.

"Where's Rory?" Sherlock asked.

"Inside the house."

They both turned their heads to look back in the direction of the house. Even though he couldn't see it, and he was pretty sure that whoever may be looking couldn't see them, Sherlock still felt as if he were being watched.

Sherlock turned his head back to Amelia, who was watching him hungrily. He knew what was going to happen next, any idiot would figure it out. But he didn't stop her. Instead his lips met hers halfway.

His hands moved from her wrists to the back of her neck and the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer against him as he pushed her harder against the fence. Sherlock didn't know what he was doing; he just did what his body, his transport, wanted. And he was enjoying every second of it.

Amelia's arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers entwined in his hair. She pushed her hips into his and Sherlock gasped, different parts of him reacting enthusiastically to her touch.

There was a ghostly laugh and with that Amelia was gone, causing Sherlock to hit his head on the fence. He swore and rubbed the tender spot. What had just happened? Sherlock turned around in the direction of the house. A pair of hands pushed him back against the fence. His eyes met with a pair of hauntingly familiar black ones.

"I have your princess, Sherlock." The thin Irish voice said. "She's trapped in a very high tower, waiting, always waiting."

He laughed and Sherlock lashed out but hit nothing but smoke. That's when he realised.

His head whipped up in the direction of the house. It was her. This was all about her. The dreams she had been having, the taunts she’d been hearing. Rory turning up. This was a trap and Amelia was the bait.

Sherlock jogged back to the house. He shut the door harshly behind him, causing Amelia, who was in the living room, to jump.

"Sherlock?" She said getting up and walking over to him. “What happened to your head?"

Amelia touched the tender bump on his head and he hissed slightly, but his mind was too preoccupied with what happened not two minutes earlier.

"Where's Rory?" He said quickly, trying to distract himself from the heat coming off Amelia's body.

"He went for a walk, why?" She was confused, she should be, Sherlock was behaving erratically. "Sherlock, I think you should sit down…"

"I can't." He said pushing past her and then walking a couple steps up the stairs before going back down and grabbing Amelia's shoulders. "You are not to go outside, got it?"

"What about Rory?" She asked.

"He's dead."

"What?"

Sherlock could see Amelia shutting down. No matter how many times she had lost her husband, it still hurt her.

"How do you know?" She demanded.

"Amelia, he was never alive, he never came back, this is a trick." He said softly. He couldn't bear to see her in pain.

"For who?" She asked, her green eyes flashing with fear.

"For you."


	13. I will not desert you now

Amelia sat down on the couch, her head in her hands. He didn’t move to comfort her, his brain still working through his theory.

“They needed a way to draw you in, something that made you not question.” He muttered. “So of course Rory is the perfect example of this. They used your pain against you. Knowing, with his history, that you wouldn’t question his miraculous revival.”

A sob escaped her lips and he turned around.

"Amelia," he said in a soft voice, sitting on the table in front of her. "I'm…"

She sniffled and lifted her head up to look at him. Her eyes were red and puffy, but she had never looked more beautiful to him.

"I know, it's fine.” She half smiled. “I should…”

Tears started leaking out of her eyes again.

Sherlock's lips thinned and he nodded. He didn't know what else to do to help her. He got up and started pacing.

"Do you know of anyone that would want to hurt you?" He asked. The thought of someone hating Amelia like that, his Amelia, set him on the edge.

Amelia shook her head. She never bothered anyone enough for that. She frowned.

"Hang on, Sherlock, where exactly are we?" She asked, looking over at him.

“Well, we’re not on Earth according to you.” He smiled. “We’re on a very carefully created replica.”

“So it’s not something that any _human_ could have created.” She prompted.

Sherlock shook his head. "It can't be. Even I know there’s no technology for that yet.”

Amy nodded. It wasn't human, so whatever it was it wasn't after her.

"The Doctor," she pieced together, Sherlock's head snapped up.

"What?" He asked. He was sure he had heard her, but once that name was said it was beginning to make more sense.

"The Doctor," she went on, louder this time. "Think about it Sherlock, I'm not special, I'm just some Scottish girl. The only thing special about me is that I went travelling with the Doctor.”

_Amelia_ , He thought.

Did she really think that she wasn't special? Did she really not see that she was the most puzzling thing he had ever come across? She wasn't just the little girl who waited for a magical being to whisk her away; she was so much more than that. She was the woman that Sherlock would do anything for.

His eyes flashed for a second. “I mean, logically you’re right.” He said, even though the words hurt him. “They wouldn’t be after you. And anyone who knows anything would know that to get to the Doctor they could use you."

“But he hasn’t come yet.” Amelia pointed out. “Maybe he doesn’t even know. That means he’s safe.”

Sherlock looked at her for a second. His eyes must have betrayed him because Amelia eyed him wearily.

“What did you do?” She asked cautiously.

“I left a note for Lestrade.” He shrugged. “And I may have mentioned the Doctor.”

Amelia’s face drained completely of colour. He didn’t think he had ever seen her look so pale.

“I’m a trap…” She repeated. “For my best friend. I’m being used to lure him back. To rescue me.”

Amy's voice trailed off, her eyes wide with her sudden realisation. Rory was there for her, to lure her in. Sherlock was just in the wrong house at the wrong time. This was all meant for her. She was meant to be used in the death of her best friend.

Again.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry." She looked up at him.

It couldn't have been Madame Kovarian, could it? Amy killed her.

In a different reality, in a time that never was, she reminded herself. Who else wanted the Doctor dead? She couldn't think of anyone.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Amelia," he knelt down in front of her, his hand cupping her face.

His thumb stroked her cheekbone as his blue eyes stared into hers.

She was scared, he could tell. The Doctor had told him what had happened at Demon's Run. Sherlock demanded that the Doctor bring her back to Earth then and there, that it was too dangerous for her to be travelling around with him. But whatever they had done to her was clearly a lot deeper than anyone had originally presumed.

He wanted to make her feel better. It was such a… normal thing to want to do. Something he had never felt before except for her; his Amelia Pond.

“What can I do?” He asked, his voice borderline desperate, a new feeling for him.

What was it about her that affected him this way?

Amelia reached up and touched his cheek gently. Her fingers were soft against his skin. His eyelids fluttered briefly at her touch.

“Just stay,” she whispered.

“Always,” he regarded her carefully. “As long as you’ll have me, Amelia Pond.”

She nodded. She would always want him, she was sure of that. There was no one else who made her feel like he did. He infuriated her and challenged her in ways that no one else ever did. Rory had always just accepted his secondary role in her life. For him the Doctor always came first and for him it was true. But Sherlock was different. No one came before him, it had just taken her a long time to realise it.

“Sherlock,” she said softly, her body moving closer to his. “Was there ever anyone else? After me?”

He paused for a second and blinked, obviously the question took him a bit off guard.

“One other,” he nodded. “But she never even came close to you. She was different.”

She looked at him for a moment, part of her felt slightly jealous of this unnamed other woman. But Amy reminded herself that she said goodbye first; she couldn’t have expected him to wait for her to come around. She had no right to feel jealous.

Amy closed the distance between them. Her body ached for his in a way that it hadn’t since she was younger. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. They fell onto their knees in front of the couch. His hands gingerly moved to her waist, as if he was scared that she would break under his fingertips. His lips parted with hers.

She got lost in the feeling of him. Her fingers ran through his dark curls. His mouth traced a line down her jaw to her favourite spot just behind her ear. He nibbled on it gently, causing her to gasp, before moving back up to her mouth.

“Amelia,” he breath into her lips.

His body pressed into hers, showing her how much he needed this at this moment.

But she pulled away.

“Sherlock, I…”

Her voice trailed away as she stared into his blue eyes. Her train of thought completely left her at that moment. She couldn’t remember any of the reason why they shouldn’t. She needed this. She needed to feel him against her. She needed to take comfort in the fact that he was here, he was real. She needed to feel _happy_ , truly happy. It had been so long since she had felt that.

Her mouth covered his again, this time with more urgency. His hands lifted up her jumper first. Her fingers unbuttoned his shirt. They explored each other’s bodies as if it were the first time. And for them it was. It was the first time they had done this together. And never in all of her day dreams, did she think it would ever feel like this. It felt natural, like two puzzle pieces that were always supposed to belong together.

Relief engulfed her as she tipped over the edge with him. She collapsed on top of him, their bodies slightly damp. His long fingers gently traced her spine as she listened to his heartbeat.

It was moments like these that Amy held on to. This is what she remembered when Sherlock went into one of his moods, acting like he wasn’t human. His heart beating against his ribs, his chest slowly rising and falling with hers. It was moments like these that reminded her that Sherlock Holmes definitely was human.

That Sherlock Holmes definitely had a heart. And that heart was hers.


	14. Falling down

There was a drop of water somewhere in the corner.

The bed underneath her felt cold and hard.

There was a window to her right but it was too high up for her to see her surroundings.

“Sherlock?” She called.

A voice in the darkness laughed.

“No,” Amy tried to sit up. “No, this is a dream.”

“Not this time, darling.” The voice said. “Welcome to your tower Amelia Pond. It’s time to become your fairytale.”

Before she could argue further a feeling of cold washed over her.

. . . . .

Sherlock Holmes woke up with a start. His heart banging against his ribs. A thin layer of sweat covered his body. He was overcome with a feeling of dread, something had happened while he slept.

He thought back. The last thing he remembered… Amelia and him in the living room. Their bodies united as one. Her falling asleep on his chest after they moved onto the couch.

He didn’t remember falling asleep but he must have.

But if he did, then it would have been on the couch with Amelia. He wouldn’t have left her.

So why was he in the spare room? And why was he fully clothed?

“Amelia?” Sherlock called out.

She didn’t respond. He felt his blood run cold.

“Amelia!” He yelled, tossing the covers back.

He searched the house high and low but she was gone. He had lost her even after he promised to keep her safe. His Amelia Pond was gone and he didn’t know where to begin looking for her.

Just as he was about to regress back into himself there was a knock on the closet door. Sherlock turned to it and frowned. Who would be inside the closet? Plus he had looked in there before and there was nothing there except for some coats.

“Hello?” A familiar voice called. “Can you hear me? I think I got the coordinates wrong. I seem to be trapped in a coat room of sorts. I hope I’m on the right planet and not the planet of coats. That’s a disastrous time. Not at all like they said in the brochure.”

“What the…” Sherlock’s voice trailed off.

“Oh! Sherlock Holmes!” The voice laughed. “Good, I am in the right place then. Do you mind opening the door? It seems to be stuck.”

Sherlock walked cautiously to the closet door and opened it. The Doctor stepped out looking almost exactly as he had last time he saw him. Except this time he had a clown nose.

“Your nose?” Sherlock asked.

“Oh! Right.” The Doctor grinned. “I helped out some clowns and they made me an honorary clown. Quite nice of them too. Now where’s Amelia, I’m come to take you two home. I don’t think I’m too late.”

The Doctor looked at his wrist and Sherlock arched an eyebrow at his lack of watch.

“Huh, I must have misplaced that one.” He shrugged. “Anyway, grab Amelia, grab your bags, let’s go.”

“She’s gone.” Sherlock said.

The Doctor looked at him for a second, something darkening in his brown eyes.

“You mean she’s gone to the shops, right?” He frowned. “And that she’ll be right back. Not as in she’s gone and you can’t find her.”

“I woke up and she wasn’t here.” Sherlock replied. “She’s been taken. But Doctor, it’s all a trap for you. She figured that out, we just couldn’t figure out who laid it out.”

The Doctor regarded him for a moment before walking towards the front door, muttering as he walked.


End file.
